


Agate

by jujunie



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, iwaoi one shot, somewhat ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23538058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujunie/pseuds/jujunie
Summary: AU where Iwaizumi works at a rocks and minerals gallery and Oikawa is an awkward nerdy museum frequenter. They meet, and it goes from there.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 2
Kudos: 51





	Agate

**Author's Note:**

> i dont actually know anything about cool rocks and gemstones, just wanted to romanticize iwa's eyes. had a lot of feelings about iwaoi lately, and wanted to outlet them somewhere and just write them doing cute stuff. it's been a while so I'm very rusty, but please enjoy!

_Agate_ , Oikawa thinks. _His eyes are the colour of agate._

Despite his seemingly incurable obsession with semiprecious stones, Oikawa takes his eyes off of the display in front of him, all refracting light and shimmering hues, to stare into the blue agate-coloured eyes across from him. Rings of differing blue tones circled pupils that were rapidly increasing in diameter, thick black eyelashes framing and softening the striking colour. Oikawa could not breathe. The stones in front of him, so innocently resting on velvet pedestals, encased in glass and bound by metal, had found a new home in the eyes of a stranger.

“Um, I don’t think you’re allowed to take pictures in here,” the stranger says. His badge and uniform must mean that he works in the gallery. Oikawa starts. He only nods and sheepishly puts his phone back in his pocket. The stranger gives a small, apologetic smile, and moves on.

Oikawa inhales, and forgets to blink. _Agate_ , he stupidly thinks again. _Blue agate._

_The best kind._

______

The second time Iwaizumi Hajime encounters the staring stranger is nearly bypassed altogether as he bumps into him at the subway station. Iwaizimi mutters a quiet apology and is about to walk away when he is stopped by a strong feeling that he is about to miss something important; very, very important. He swivels his head back to get a better look at the stranger, only to meet wide, astounded eyes in return.

 _He’s pretty,_ Iwaizumi thinks _, a little too much so, if you ask me._

“Oh, have I met you before?” Iwaizumi starts. He is bluffing, he knows exactly who the stranger is and where he’s encountered him before, but the stranger’s face softens. Iwaizumi feels a part of him give way to an unidentifiable feeling.

“Yes, at the natural history museum,” the stranger says. Then, after a pause, he adds, “The rocks and minerals display.”

Iwaizumi pretends to nod in agreement, then smiles. “What a coincidence, huh?” He inhales, breathes out, “What’s your name?”

The stranger looks at him with the same look he had given Iwaizumi at the museum. A little bit of awe, a little bit of admiration, and a whole lot more of something else that makes Iwaizumi want to throw up and dance at the same time. The stranger smiles.

“Oikawa. Oikawa Tooru. Yours?”

Iwaizumi gives him a small smile. “Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi Hajime.”

______

Oikawa swears that, by the third time they meet, he would ask for the boy’s number.

On this sweltering hot evening in the middle of August, he is standing in front of the same stranger he has met twice before, eyes like blue agate and wonder, and curses how, out of all the days he could have forgotten his phone at home, he chose today.

Iwaizumi looks startled when he meets Oikawa’s eyes. They are both in running gear, leggings underneath shorts and hair slick with sweat. Oikawa cannot help but admire Iwaizumi’s arms, sculpted as if out of a Greek myth. His brain empties, and he feels himself uselessly grasping for something, _anything_ , before Iwaizumi keeps jogging and leaves him there feeling more hot and bothered than the day itself allowed.

“Um, hello again,” Oikawa finally manages. _Why_ , he groans, _am I so awkward?_

Iwaizumi smirks, “Hey. Oikawa, right? You run around here too?”

Oikawa nods, “Yeah. Mostly evenings though.”

“Me too, these days. It’s almost the end of August and it’s only getting hotter,” Iwaizumi wipes at his nose. Oikawa swallows hard. “Hope the heatwave passes soon.” Iwaizumi motions like he’s about to continue on his way. Oikawa panics.

“Wait!” Oikawa starts. Iwaizumi turns. Oikawa becomes hyperaware of his hands and feet and knees and all the way to the tips of his ears.

“I...um, since we’ve met so many times already, do you want to hang out?” His tongue feels too big in his mouth. Oikawa tries in vain to calm his racing heartbeat that’s probably making his whole body vibrate in rhythm.

Iwaizumi raises a teasing eyebrow. “Sure. Do you want my number? I don’t have my phone on me.”

“Oh, um, I don’t either, weirdly enough.” Oikawa feels heat in his cheeks. He curses his forgetfulness again, three times harder, but feels better knowing that Iwaizumi did the same thing. Or maybe he never runs with his phone. Oikawa stops his haywire brain before he dwells on it further.

“That’s okay, here.” Iwaizumi pats his sides and retrieves a pen from his shorts pocket. He proceeds, as if in slow motion, with the ruby and gold and rose quartz sunset fading behind them and the hot summer evening giving way to a gentle, cooler breeze, to grab Oikawa’s hand and scribble down a string of numbers on his palm.

Oikawa short-circuits. He can only watch with compartmentalized awe as Iwaizumi then caps the pen, waves, and jogs off. Oikawa squeezes out a strangled “See ya!” before having to stumble to a park bench and bury his burning face in his hands.

______

When they meet up at a coffee shop approximately a week afterwards, Oikawa thinks he has a better handle on himself. He’s dressed to impress, nothing at all like the grubby-haired, glasses-adorned, sweatshirt-and-jeans attire he wears during his biweekly expeditions to the museum, or the sweaty, workout gear he sports at the park. He’s read somewhere that first impressions are what last the longest, but he is determined to change that today.

Oikawa arrives early and finds a spot. The coffeeshop is quaint – small but well-decorated with bronze and white marble, plants on every available surface. It’s a bustling afternoon on a Saturday, and the coffeeshop is loud with laughing patrons and the sound of coffee machines. He fidgets with his shirt buttons as he waits.

“Hey, Oikawa.”

Oikawa starts, then looks up. Iwaizumi is standing by his table, the outer corner of his eyes upturned in a slight smile. He is dressed casually, but his clothes fit him well. The earthy tones set something off in Oikawa’s heart. He swallows.

“Hey, Iwaizumi! You’re late.” He gets out. Then, before his brain can catch up, “You look good.”

Oikawa thinks that he can see a slight blush spread across Iwaizumi’s cheeks. He immediately short-circuits again, and wonders where he conjured the bravery to say something like that.

Iwaizumi rubs the back of his neck. “Thanks. So do you. Where are your glasses?”

“Oh, I don’t wear them when I’m, ah, trying to impress. I think I look like a dork in them.”

Iwaizumi huffs a laugh and takes a seat. He cocks his head. “I don’t think so. They suit you.”

Oikawa is starting to realize that perhaps, staring into the dark gemstone eyes across from him, hearing the blood rush to his ears and scrunching his eyes reflexively, he does not have a better handle on himself today, after all. He fumbles to get up and sputters something about ordering, to which Iwaizumi gives him another small smile and follows, trailing close behind.

____

They become very, very close. Iwaizumi initially has a hard time pinning the feeling he gets whenever Oikawa laughs and runs a hand through his hair, or whenever his eyes go wide from a compliment and he blushes and loses his words, or whenever his eyes narrow in concentration during one of their many videogaming sessions. He begins to look forward to seeing Oikawa at the museum. Oikawa visits every other week, and Iwaizumi finds himself planning his shifts at the mineral gallery so he can see him. They go out for drinks. They go out for walks. Gradually, Oikawa becomes a constant. Iwaizumi can hardly remember what life was like before Oikawa was in it.

Finally, on a day with Oikawa just like any other day, he suddenly names it. He knows the feeling in his stomach with such revelation, such apparent clarity that his eyes widen. He turns his head to face Oikawa, who is excitedly talking about the latest alien conspiracy theory and shoving French fries into his mouth, eyes alight and brown curls a mess. They’re sitting on a park bench, watching the sun set over the horizon. Iwaizumi remembers that hot summer day when Oikawa asked for his number. His heart aches.

“Oikawa.” Iwaizumi interrupts. Oikawa turns, stopping mid-sentence when he sees Iwaizumi’s eyes. The sun is setting, and the light catches Iwaizumi’s blue in all of its different shades and brilliant hues, rings upon rings circling agate eyes that captivated Oikawa from the very beginning. He pauses.

“I think I like you.”

Oikawa stares. Iwaizumi’s face is calm, almost expressionless. Oikawa short-circuits. Again. He does not know where to put his hands. There’s a jolt to his chest like a surge of electricity, and he feels a familiar heat pool in his stomach, his heart, his cheeks. Before Oikawa can react, Iwaizumi is reaching out, arms extending, hands coming closer and closer to his face, and before Oikawa can even swallow or sputter or blush or do anything else a fumbling idiot like him would do, Iwaizumi leans in and their eyes close and the sun sets and Oikawa is torn between wanting to see those eyes again or keeping his closed to enjoy this new warmth, a different kind of warmth, spreading across his chest and hands. He melts, drinking it in.

_______

Their first time is surprisingly smooth. Neither of them are, by any means, amateurs to begin with. In a dizzy tangle of hands and hair and lips on skin, they move together with practiced ease as if they had done this a hundred times. Iwaizumi is rough, but Oikawa likes it. Iwaizumi sinks into the warmth of Oikawa’s hands, his arms and legs, entwined in each other and heating each other from the soles of their feet to the tops of their heads, each touch sending tingles all over their bodies. Oikawa’s voice is soft, almost melodical, and hearing it makes Iwaizumi crumble, crumble like the first bite of pie crust or the first step on fallen leaves. Iwaizumi’s heart aches for him. Iwaizumi is drunk on him. Iwaizumi feels his breath leave his chest, and he wonders again how he ever existed without Oikawa, and he quietly promises to him, between shared breaths and feathery touches, that he would never, ever let him go.

_______

  
Oikawa stretches his arm, hands loosely held in Iwaizumi’s, as they walk slowly along the beach. Call it a cliché, but this is one of his favourite things to do with him on their days off together. Pant legs rolled up to the knees, he pulls Iwaizumi into the water. Iwaizumi does not have time to protest before he is being drenched by splashes. As they watch the sun set, Oikawa tells Iwaizumi he loves him.

Iwaizumi turns to him, hair dripping, face soft and eyes gentle. Oikawa could describe how the sky looked with a million names of precious gemstones and shimmery rocks, but how was it that he could never describe how he felt when Iwaizumi looked at him, into his eyes and into his heart? Iwaizumi squeezes Oikawa’s hand in the sand and looks back to the horizon, a look of contentment blushing across his cheeks, agate eyes aglow in the sun. He smiles.

“I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first time I've posted something since I was like 15 - been through a lot and regressing back to this fandom means a lot of rediscovered feelings and joy. was digging through my folders and found this idea unfinished in my backlog, and so decided to give it another go. hope you liked it!


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